Communication
by Schildkroete
Summary: Slash: MasterDoctor10. Having stolen another person's body again the Master comes back after having been killed. They don't talk. At least not in words. And then things start to go wrong. Finished so far.
1. Chapter 1

Communication

by schildkroete

-

He didn't resist, even parted his lips for a tongue to invade his mouth, noting the heat, the alien taste. Clear blue eyes kept staring into his, captivating his gaze and yet he still saw the people gaping, heard the noise of the fountain he was pressed against. Stray drops of water falling on hands lying on the edge of the basin. It wasn't a kiss. It was a way of communicating, the hands grapping his face, the tongue in his mouth saying _I'm back, I'm back for you, I'll always be back for you, You'll never be free of me. I'll never let you go._ He felt the lips of a stranger he would never meet move against his own and didn't close his eyes.

_Without you I'm lost._

He'd recognised him the moment he'd stepped onto the place, a tall man in a worn jeans jacket, utterly unremarkable. They had looked at each other across the place and the man had smiled, a faint, arrogant smile, so full of affection. He'd never seen him before. He'd felt nothing. He was still alone and yet knew he wasn't. All the strength left his body then, flowed into the ground beneath his feet and disappeared, dissolved to nothing. His hearts racing, filled with shame and guilt, because he knew he was looking at the latest victim of a murderer and all he felt was relief.

Not one thought was wasted on the How when the man came over, cupped his face and kissed him hard, not just with his lips but with his mind he couldn't feel, with everything he was, a claim of ownership. He felt the hot tongue wrestling against his own, tasted human salvia and wondered how he could at the same time feel such desperation and such terrible bliss.

His entire being was rooted to the spot, focused on the man that held him and the fact that he was there and alive, but he still heard the mumbling of the bystanders turning into shouts. They where gathering now, more and more people coming to look, their voices ranging from disgusted to angry. The sunlight was warm and white and this wasn't even Earth, a colony in the fortieth century and they were not known for their tolerating of what they considered crimes against nature.

The Master broke the kiss, threw back his head and laughed. He let go of the Doctor and turned to look at the policemen moving towards them, a relaxed smile on his face, and the Doctor knew there would be bloodshed. Without thinking he took the Master's hand and ran back to the alley where the TARDIS was parked. Half the population of a city running after them and all he cared about were the warm, human fingers wrapped firmly around his own.

-

They never spoke, not in words, ever. What they had to say they said in touches and glances. They touched a lot.

Every so often the Master would pull the Doctor close for another kiss and the Doctor would let him. The Master was never gentle, never tender, he held him, but is was no embrace; and the Doctor refused to cling to him like the frightened little boy he was, just let it all happen, saying _Do whatever you want, just don't go._

The moment they'd entered the TARDIS that first day the Master had pushed him onto the couch in the console room and taken him, while outside the angry mob was banging on the door. He'd laughed when he came and the Doctor had taken hold of his arms and wished the other man would stay there forever, inside him, because that hurt, but it was as close as they could get.

He travelled on after that, as always, only now there was another Time Lord with him, one in a human body, a stolen body, but a Time Lord none the less. When he thought about it he was sad and grieved for the young man who had been murdered so another could use his corpse. He didn't know that man but felt that he'd have deserved to live, more than the Master did. Only his hearts would not be convinced.

There were no words for these things in this new language of theirs. No way of asking, no _Who was he?_ or _How did you do it?_ Only _I need you, Don't leave me_ and _I'm yours, always._ One day he'd apologised with a slight touch to the Master's shoulder. The Master had chuckled and shook his head – he didn't care. All that mattered were the two of them.

Nothing had changed.

Sometimes the Doctor wondered if the Master wanted to let him know all the things his touch told him, or if they slipped through unintended in this purer way of communication that allowed no lies. The way he held him down, the roughness of his palms against his skin spoke of a need just as deep as his own, of possessiveness and despair. _Only you_, it said. _Only you._

Much more often than him the Master would go off to sleep, his human body demanding rest, and the Doctor could tell this bothered him – being trapped in a body that aged, grew tired so fast, had so little strength and needed so much food (but he was used to it. Sometimes the Doctor would watch him sleep and think of the father of a friend, the loveable old man from another planet he couldn't save.)

Eventually the Master would leave. They both knew it. One day he would get off the TARDIS and try to take over the galaxy, just so the Doctor would have to stop him. Or he would steal the TARDIS and strand the Doctor on an unpleasant planet so see how he would get it back. Or he would attack him in his sleep, keep him as his prisoner, to torture and humiliate him whenever he felt like it. The day would come, inevitably. For the first time in ages the Doctor slept peacefully.

-

When he left the TARDIS the Master would accompany him. The first time the Doctor had thought he'd stay behind, but a few minutes later he was standing beside him. The lack of a telepathic link unnerved him.

The other Time Lord never caused trouble, contrary to the Doctor's expectations. He just stayed nearby, watched him, didn't help and didn't speak. As if he had to make sure the Doctor would not disappear the moment he looked away.

Sometimes tough the Master would go and keep himself busy elsewhere. The Doctor never knew what he did then but he always was with him when he got back to the TARDIS and there was no room for questions in the way they spoke.

Then the world ended.

It was only a small world, somewhere at the edge of M87. There was a terrible war going on and people were dying. Through the open doors they could hear their screams, see the flames, hear shooting and explosions. Something had to be done and this time the Master held him back when the Doctor made is way for the door. _Let them die_, he said. The Doctor got out of his grip without effort, without thinking. That body was broad shouldered and strong, but it was only human. _You can only hold me down because I let you._ It was an unintended message and he didn't even notice it but the Master did.

This time the Master did not follow him. There was only death waiting for them beyond the door but the Doctor had to go anyway. When he pulled the door closed he caught one last glimpse of the man standing inside, his stony face, his hands clenched at his side, not reaching out for him because he couldn't hold him back. Helpless, a man knowing he was about to lose everything. And the Doctor stepped back inside and for the first time it was him who pressed his lips against the Master's, a quick, chaste kiss, a promise. Then he closed the door and disappeared into the smoke and the fire, thinking that the Master deserved the agony of being left behind and for the first time in forever he wanted to live.

August 14, 2007


	2. Chapter 2

„No," the Doctor gasped. „No, no, no, no, no!" It felt weird, like he hadn't used his voice in ages when he'd just talked to the people around him, talked so much. Felt wrong, speaking to the Master like this, with words; it wasn't in the rules, but he couldn't help it.

"Not again", he whispered to himself. "Please, please not again." He couldn't hear his own voice over the noise.

This world was on the brink of destruction. The war had been raging for decades and soon it would be over. The Doctor could feel the universe ripple around them – unnoticed by everyone else but agonizing for a Time Lord. Someone was trying to manipulate reality, rewrite history. They weren't succeeding, they never would – these beings were unable to change and control the flow of time, but they would die trying and take everything with them.

Everything. The whole universe. Everything that was and ever had been.

It was what had attracted the TARDIS to this place a week ago. Since then the Doctor had met the resistance, had found out what was going on and had convinced a handful of brave people to help him get inside the base of the enemy to stop them before it was too late. Now most of his friends where lying around him, shot by archaic weapons or torn to pieces by grenades. The last bullet had been meant for him. And it would have hit its target.

He still didn't understand what was going on when he ran to the Master and cradled his bloodied form in his arms (again, and this wasn't how it was supposed to happen, wasn't part of the game). This was his chance to get away – the others where calling him but he couldn't move and didn't want to. The Master said something but the sound didn't reach his ears. He'd heard him speak before, once or twice, to people they'd met during their travels, but never to him and now he couldn't remember the sound of his voice.

Most likely he was telling him to get away, or else his sacrifice would be useless. The Doctor didn't comprehend – the Master didn't sacrifice himself. He had half expected to find his TARDIS stolen once again when he got back. He'd never thought the other Time Lord would come here and save his life, still didn't believe it. But the evidence was lying dying in his arms.

There was no use in asking him to regenerate this time. Human body. The man in his arms took hold of his hand and pressed it with all the strength he could muster, and this the Doctor understood. He pressed back, gently, and refused to move until a wave of darkness washed over him and took him away.

-

The Master awoke to sunshine and the sound of birds singing in the trees. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head. He felt confused and disoriented but he knew that something was seriously wrong here. As wrong as birds in the trees could be, and where the Master was concerned that was pretty wrong.

He closed his eyes for a moment and consulted his memory. It told him to come back at a later time but he stubbornly knocked on the door of his mind again and again until it presented him with pictures of destruction and chaos, the smell of smoke and decay and the Doctor in the middle of all that.

Now came the point where he was supposed to realise that things had just happened, without any conscious decision on his side: He'd gone looking for the Doctor after he'd been gone for a week (out of boredom, not some kind of concern, because what would he care?), found him in the middle of a fire fight, carrying a device that looked so ridiculous he must have constructed it himself – out of the remains of an umbrella and pieces he'd found in somebody else's attic. Then he'd seen someone aiming a rifle at his favourite enemy and just got between them without ever realising what he was doing. Because if he had realised it he wouldn't have done it. Heroism was for idiots.

But the truth was that he'd very much known what he was doing. During the week he'd spend alone in the TARDIS he'd had enough time to think of what he'd do when the Doctor was gone. Without him there to stop him the Master could take over whole galaxies, maybe the entire universe. But without the Doctor there to stop him he didn't know why he should try.

He'd never, in all the centuries of his existence, thought that he would outlive the Doctor. A universe without him wasn't something he was able to imagine and not a place he wanted to live in. Sure, he'd tried to kill him and he'd even succeeded, but the Doctor had had enough lives left then. Still, if the Doctor was ever going to die, it would be by the Master's hand. The thought of someone else sharing that intimacy with him made him sick.

He'd never really thought he would be left behind, but when he'd seen that man about to fire, knowing there was no way he could stop him, the Master had for one second gotten a taste of the emptiness that was to come. And so he had stepped between them. It wasn't heroism. It was an act of self preservation.

Of course it was an act of self preservation with a possible deadly outcome, which made it a kind of stupid thing to do. He'd do it again any day. He'd rather leave the Doctor behind, knowing perfectly well it would break him, than be left himself.

Not that he wanted to die, though. In fact, he very much wanted to live. So he'd tried to get hit in some part of this body he didn't necessarily need. He hadn't been sure it had worked when he'd lain in the Doctor's arms once again and watched the tears running down his face. It was rather nice, if somewhat pathetic. Would have been even nicer, tough, if the Doctor had appreciated his selfless act and moved his skinny ass to safety. Because the Master had clung to his intention to survive even as his consciousness faded away, and it would have been very inconvenient if he'd woken up alive to find the Doctor dead beside him.

(For one moment his stomach turned to ice, the mere thought impossible to bear.)

What he'd not expected was waking up in a soft bed, bathed in sunshine. And the damn birds just wouldn't shut up!

He tried to move and found out that he was very much alive and very much in pain. He'd been hit in the shoulder, a bit too close to the heart for his liking, but when he moved it hurt pretty much everywhere. Highly unfair, he thought. That's what you get for being nice. Maybe he should have stayed out of the way and hoped that the Doctor would regenerate. Right now that seemed like the better idea.

"You're awake!" a female voice pointed out, as if he needed telling. "I'm so glad!"

The Master opened his eyes again and saw an elderly woman hurrying over from the door to fuss over him. He tried to push her away but moving made him wince in pain, which made her fuss even more. Being cradled in the Doctor's arms was one thing, this was just embarrassing. He wasn't a child after all, although right now he wanted ice-cream.

"Who are you?" he managed to croak out. The woman smiled at him.

"I'm Teenan's mother," she said as if that explained anything.

"I see."

"You've been out for two weeks", the woman continued. "We've had you over at the hospital but they needed the bed so we took you home."

"Why are you helping me?" the Master wanted to know, since it was a rather new experience for him.

"Because you saved the Doctor. He's been such a great friend to us and we are all so very grateful!" The woman beamed down at him and for a moment the Master felt like beaming back. He didn't. Stealing the Doctor's jelly babies was okay, but he didn't want to turn into him!

"He's alive then," he noted in the most casual voice he could manage. "Where is he?"

"Not here. But I'm sure he will be, soon." The woman still smiled but it seemed a little tense. Before the Master could ask another question, she changed the topic.

"Isn't the weather wonderful?" She opened the window and the annoying birds got even louder. "The fresh air will be good for you."

The Master grimaced. The people of this planet looked like humans, and they acted like them as well. But they didn't speak a terran language but something completely different. It was a simple language, easy to learn for a Time Lord, and it was a good thing the Master had done so, because just now he realised that the TARDIS wasn't translating anymore, which meant…

"Teenan has gone to the festival, but he will be back soon. He'll be happy to see you awake and well."

The Master, not feeling very well, grimaced even more and wondered which of the pathetic creatures the Doctor had gathered around himself this time she might be talking about. Or what she was talking about in general.

"What's happened to the war?" he asked.

Teenan's mother looked confused.

"What war?"

"The war I was shot in?" the Master suggested, now wondering if this woman was a little dense. She suddenly smiled softly down at him.

"Oh, you poor thing. You had a bad dream. No surprise after what you've been through." She patted his head and the Master silently vowed to cut off her hands at the first opportunity. "There was a robbery. You protected the Doctor and got hit. Don't you remember?"

"No," the Master said matter-of-factly. But he did remember. Going home late, a dark alley, a man with a gun, throwing himself against the Doctor to knock him out of the way. It was an absolutely ridiculous memory, and not even a real one. More like a story someone had told him. It had happened and yet it hadn't. It was like someone had painted that story over reality, but underneath the original reality still existed. Underneath the Master found fire, death and the smell of blood and that wasn't something he was likely to forget, even though he'd encountered plenty of it in his lifetimes. Yet, the woman had forgotten all of it. Because it had never happened. Someone was messing with reality.

The Master knew that one party in that war had tried, but this was far beyond them. They had neither the technology nor the mind to control it like this – or at all. Yet it happened. And the Doctor was nowhere to be seen, the telepathic link to the TARDIS broken.

It didn't take the Master long to come to a conclusion.

"I have to go," he declared, got out of bed in one swift movement and collapsed with a yelp of pain.

- August 17, 2007


	3. Chapter 3

The next week was hell. No matter how much the Master wanted to go out and do something, find the Doctor and maybe blow up one of two cities on the way, he couldn't leave the bed. He was hurt, his useless human body refused to cooperate and the woman of the house had tied him to the bed the third time he'd tried to leave. Oh, she was so going to die! Her son, Teenan, got the thankless task of feeding him after that. To his credit, the young man looked just as embarrassed as the Master was feeling, but he was going to kill him for it anyway. Just to prove a point.

During that week reality kept changing. One morning he was awoken by the family that cared for him to join them in their prayer to Hexaha, the hero who had saved and united their world and now watched over them as their protector. That had been the third time the Master had tried to get away, and this time he did it screaming and cursing. They prayed twice each day, like they had all their life. The Master had all the memories of four different lives on this planet and none of it made any sense. The one constant was the Doctor – they where old friends from school who'd stayed in touch, they where colleges at work, the Master was a shopkeeper and the Doctor a thief who stole from him at least once a week, they where lovers. One day the Master nearly choked on his meal when he was suddenly overcome by the memory of courting his old enemy during a garden party. Whoever created these realities didn't seem to take into consideration that he and the Doctor were actually aliens from a planet that never existed.

And whoever created these realities had a very dirty mind.

In the end the things he remembered merely proved to him that the Doctor had nothing to do with what kind of reality was created. If he had, everyone on this planet would be happy, honest and annoying and no-one would worship a guy called Hexaha. And of course the species would die, because no-one ever had sex. But whoever was responsible for this (the Master suspected a guy called Hexaha), they where using the Doctor for it. And they definitely had no idea what they where doing. As one false history was painted over the other, the Master could feel the strain in the fabric of reality. Soon it would snap and the gab would consume not only this world but the whole of time and space.

It was simple, really. The history of this world got changed until it got erased from history altogether. But other civilisations had had contact with this planet, and in that case this contact never happened. So their history got changed as well. They would fall into the hole torn by this planet and disappear, and so would all the other civilisations they had ever contacted and so on. Until everything was gone. It would take a while, but in the end there would be nothing left of the universe but a giant plane full of things that never where.

Not at all unlike what had happened during the time war.

And all the time that Master was trapped, unable to do something. The birds that where singing in the evening didn't stop for one second when he felt reality shift once more and this time he could have sworn he heard the universe scream.

-

_In the darkness he was alone._

_He was more alone than he had been for a long time, his hearts trapped in the first moment _after_, when he'd woken up to nothing and the emptiness was so powerful he couldn't breathe._

_He didn't hear anything. He didn't see anything. But he felt. Everything._

_He felt their hands when they touched him. He felt the needles breaking his skin and every centimetre of the tube that ran down his throat to keep him breathing. He felt it when their drugs entered his system and he felt them in his mind, making him do things he didn't want to do. He tried to fight them but when he did they would hurt him until the pain broke his concentration and they got what they wanted. Around him he could feel the universe twisting and screaming and he screamed with it, alone, unheard._

_He saw this world the way it was now, saw people he'd watched die live on happily. Saw children playing in the s__treets without knowing the meaning of the word 'war'. Everyone was happy. They had finally found the peace they never had to fight for. And he was sorry. So sorry._

_Another crack in the fabric of time and space burned a searing white trace through his mind and he screamed in agony but no-one heard._

-

The second week the old woman finally removed his restraints and allowed him to move around a little bit. The Master had intended to jump up and make a run for it the moment she left the room but again his body betrayed him. But there was no way he'd let himself be stopped now. He'd go, and if he had to crawl there!

Crawl where?

Well.

It occurred to the Master that in this new reality he had no idea where to look for the Doctor. So much for that.

And where ever the Doctor might be, the Master didn't intend to appear there in his pyjamas. Standing unsteadily on his feet he looked down on himself. No pyjamas. Right.

He didn't intend to appear there naked. After all he had more style than that.

Never having been someone to bother with modesty he made his way through the house, slightly disappointed that there where no girls he could send screaming and blushing. In fact, he was all alone. The family had gone to listen to the weekly speech of their saviour.

In the next room he found a closet full of suits. They where a bit small, but black and neat. The Master tried one, than studied his reflection in the mirror. Perfect. All he needed now was a cape.

And a goatee.

On his way to the door his gaze fell on a picture on a cupboard. It showed him and the Doctor kissing in a park, in front of a high building in the distance. He remembered when it'd been taken: it was the day he'd proposed to the Doctor. The Master grimaced. Someone was so going to suffer for this!

Now that he saw the picture he remembered other significant days of his fake lives. It seemed that pretty much all the important events had taken place either right in front of or at least in viewing distance of that building. A least all the important events concerning the Doctor. Once he'd even been shot in the park he saw in the picture, the park that in other realities didn't even exist.

Oh, well. It was worth a try.

He considered, briefly, to kill everyone in the house before he left but didn't do it because save for him the house was empty. After another second of thinking he stole the photo.

And limped into the sunset.

August 18, 2007


	4. Chapter 4

Because the Master had no ID-card and no money, the doors of busses and trains wouldn't open to him and he had to walk into the city. He could have stopped a car and murdered the driver but it would have caused more trouble than he needed right now. It wasn't even that far to walk, bun unfortunately his condition wasn't exactly perfect yet and so he needed to take a break far more often than he would have liked.

Night fell while he slowly made his way to the tall buildings he could see in the distance. The view to the building that was his goal was blocked but he knew exactly where it was. He remembered it, because he'd been close to it so many times in the lives that didn't happen.

He just hoped that these fake memories would fade once normality was restored. Some of them were just plain embarrassing.

The darkness didn't last long. The nights were short here and after only three hours the sun rose again. When the Master finally reached the centre of the city he was exhausted and tired and in the light of the morning sun the city just came to life. He rested for a while in a park and then went in search of something to eat. Somehow, because he was brilliant, he managed to charm a passing woman into buying him a burger and the ice-cream he'd carved for a week. She gave him her address and his smile for her got even brighter when he realised that she probably wasn't even alive in the reality he was about to restore.

If his memory didn't trick him, the entire centre of the city had been destroyed in the war. All these buildings had been destroyed, which meant that the people manipulating history in one of them would have had to start somewhere else. It didn't actually matter. Now the building was there, intact and annoyingly high. Somewhere in there the Doctor was waiting to be saved by him. The Master scowled at the thought. Well, at least the Doctor was in there. Somewhere. And the Master was about to save him. Weather he wanted it or not.

The problem was the 'somewhere'. He could hardly go in there and ask for the way. And when he just looked everywhere he'd probably get arrested in a matter of minutes.

Besides, he was tired and there were so many storeys!

Just when he reconsidered the go-and-ask option, the electronic double-doors of the office-building slid open and two men stepped into the street. The Master stared. One of them was wearing the most ridiculous jacket he had ever seen. And he _had_ seen it before: A colourful patchwork-coat that looked even more idiotic on that man than it had on the Doctor.

Okay. Sixth storey then. The Master could only guess how much strength it must have cost his favourite enemy to change the realities he'd been forced to create in the subtle ways that lead him here – the photo on the cupboard, all the stupid memories circling around this place and the simple fact that one man who worked in that building owned a coat like that and had chosen to wear it this day. Now the Master could only hope that the Doctor would continue to help him. An arrow with the words 'This way' would be nice, but he also wouldn't complain about a few weapons dropping from the sky.

He crossed the street and entered the building without getting hit by anything helpful. So much for that.

There was a man standing in the entrance hall, but he ignored the Master, and the Master, in return, didn't pay much attention to him. This was the base of the enemy, the people who now ruled the world, but it was pretending to be a normal office building, which made it a secret base. A secret base on the sixth floor. The Master found an elevator and entered it. He was greeted by his reflection staring back at him from three full length mirrors that covered every wall save the door and a control panel. Beside it was a small keypad in which a code could be entered if it was needed – and known. The Master was in no way surprised that the access to the sixth floor was code-locked. That didn't help. A screwdriver of any kind might have helped but he must have lost his at some point, or they'd taken it from him while he was unconscious.

The latter was more likely. He should have burned down the house after all.

But even if he had he'd still stand here without knowing the code.

_Now would be a good time for another hint, Doctor!_ The code, written all over those mirrors, for example, would be very helpful.

He looked at the mirrors very carefully. His reflection was staring back at him.

The doors opened and another person entered. Pressed the button to the eight floor and they went up in uncomfortable silence. Maybe this was the hint the Master had been waiting for. He looked the man up and down. Got out of the elevator at the eight floor, annoyed a lot of office workers by running around and inspecting their desks. Got back into the elevator and wondered if maybe he had to wait a bit longer and enter the numbers of the floors other people went to.

There were no numbers to be entered in the keypad.

His reflection was staring back at him.

It was starting to get on his nerves.

"Do something useful for once, you stupid moron!" he said to the empty elevator. "I'm trying to help you here!"

Nothing happened. His reflection was staring back at him.

The Master stared back. Looked at the keypad. Looked at his reflection.

And groaned.

"Sentimental old fool," he muttered and raised his hand to enter the code. Then he dropped his hand again, because he needed a few moments to think.

The spoken language of this world was simple enough, but the system of characters used for writing was a pain. Especially when transferring words from other languages.

They used a system of characters that represented syllables. These syllables had to be generated from a number of symbols when it came to electronic writing because there were too damn many syllables to fit on such a small keypad.

The Master thought it over carefully. In this language there where no naked syllables. In fact, every syllable had an onset, a nucleus and a coda. Never more than three sounds, never less. The problem was that unlike most languages not only vowels could serve as nucleus, but also liquids, glides and in some cases even nasals. Only plosives and fricatives could serve as onset and coda, nothing else. It made the task he was facing somewhat difficult.

The syllable 'mas' wouldn't work, because of the nasal at the beginning. So he had to pack that one between the plosives that were used as silent sounds when writing foreign words – written but not actually meant to be spoken, similar to the 'o' in Japanese and the 'cky' in Sakkarczy, which was only spoken by a small tribe of little blue men on the Planet Hakke.

He raised his hand again, pressed the button for the sixth floor and a light on the keypad began to blink. He had one try, if he got it wrong an alarm would sound. Maybe that would be better – at least it would finally give him something to slaughter. Except he had no weapon and they would probably outnumber him.

Better get it right then. He searched for the right symbols for the syllable 'cmc', then stopped again. One try.

His reflection was staring back at him. The mirrors where ever so slightly tipped forward, making him look a bit smaller than he was.

The Master groaned again. The Doctor had always been sentimental, but now he was overdoing it!

He studied the keypad again, looking for the right symbols for 'kos'.

-

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the Master got out to be greeted by a very confused man passing by.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked and the Master smiled and said "I've come to pick up a friend", before breaking his neck. Probably not what the Doctor had in mind, but the Master didn't intend to be considerate of his sense of morals.

The world changed again and this time he could feel the process, felt the struggle of the old reality and for one second he felt dizzy. The Doctor had hardly any strength left. The moment he gave up and died all this would collapse, setting in motion the chain reaction that would destroy the universe.

The Master didn't care much about the universe. He sped up his steps, not really knowing where to go.

One minute later he faced a lot of people with guns.

He sighed, annoyed with himself for what he was about to do next.

"Take me to your leader," he said.

-tbc

August 27, 2007


	5. Chapter 5

The Master smiled darkly down at the man behind the desk. He'd been led through endless corridors and into a section of the building with walls made of milky white steel. The constant trembling of a reality straining not to fall apart he'd been feeling for days had stopped here. This place was safe, unaffected. From here they could manipulate history without being manipulated themselves.

The Master had thought about what he'd say once he'd meet the people in charge. He liked having a plan, an alternative for every possible development of events. This situation didn't give him much chance for planning and he hated to use the Doctor-method: Go and see what happens.

So he'd thought about what he'd say, what his opposite would answer, where and when he'd kill him should he get the opportunity, how to find the Doctor, how to get out. When he met the tall, slightly barbaric looking man behind the desk he changed his plan.

"You haven't left this building in weeks, have you?" he said. The man raised his eyebrows.

"How can you tell?" he asked. "And more important: How did you get in here?"

It was indeed Hexaha – the Master recognized him from the pictures in the streets and was not impressed. Except that man could tear him in half without much effort, which would be an unfortunate turn of events. He decided to avoid it.

"You stay in here", he went on, ignoring the second question, "because you're playing with reality and only in here you can be sure you'll be safe from the changes, since the reality you created is unstable, always on the brink of collapse. The fact that you change it every so often doesn't help."

Hexaha exchanged a look with a woman standing beside his desk.

"How do you know that?" he asked, his interest sparked.

"The question should be: How can I help you? Because if you keep this up, your reality will break down. And this whole world will be destroyed."

"We're working on it," Hexaha said. "Soon we'll find a way to stabilize it."

The Master raised his head.

"Show me!"

-

The machine was larger than the Master had anticipated. It filled more than half of the large room. And inside it, surrounded by wires and cables and monitors, was the Doctor, dwarfed by the sheer size of it all.

The Master moved closer, not caring for the protests of the others. The Doctor was utterly still. Motionless and pale he showed no sign of knowing of the Master's presence. He was naked safe a few bandages but the Master couldn't get close enough to tell if the injuries they covered had been caused during the fire fight or if they had been inflicted later. His eyes where covered by a heavy blindfold and he was hooked on life-support. Tubes where running into every part of his body.

The Master had to close his eyes for a moment, trying to control the wave of hatred that washed over him and made his hands tremble. He cursed himself for his weakness.

One of the monitors told him of the Doctor's weak life-signs. One heart having stopped beating and the other already failing. Time was running out.

"You've had no way of controlling the energies you're playing with and so you used him," he said, his voice calm and uncaring. "He is a Time Lord with a special affinity to time and space, and through him you have access to the vortex and all its possibilities."

"You know of the Time Lords?" a woman, a scientist by the look of it, asked surprised. The Master snorted and refused to grace that with an answer.

"Only," he continued, "the machine is draining his strength. He is about to die and since he is the one component that keeps it all stable, you're brave new world will cease to exist."

"As I said," Hexaha commented. "We're working on that. Soon we'll be able to stabilize what we did and then we won't need him anymore. He'll only have to last a little longer."

"He won't." The Master's voice was harder than intended. Then he smiled at the large man who wanted to be god. "And you're arrogance in breathtaking."

The people around gasped and Hexaha's face darkened. The Master refused to feel threatened. Insects.

"He is the one who keeps this going. It will never, ever work without him. You're trying to manipulate the vortex, the fabric of time, with this crude technique? Don't make me laugh!"

"It will work even better without him", Hexaha protested. "He keeps fighting us, causing the instability."

"The instability in caused because you have neither the means nor the knowledge for games of this kind. You didn't even erase the old realities when you created new ones, just painted one over another. He," He pointed at the corpse-like figure trapped in that horrible mechanism. "uses all his strength to keep the whole construct from collapsing. And he has very little strength left. You've doomed the universe." His voice was hard now, and everyone was silent, intimidated, even Hexaha, that useless fool. The Master's cold hatred filled the room and everyone felt it. Whatever he did, this world was lost anyway. He did not care for the universe, but the universe he might be able to save. For the Doctor it could already be too late.

He could get him out there, restore normality for all the other stars to live on, unaffected, and still have the Doctor die in his arms moments later, for already the machine was feeding on his very life-force. It was probably only the knowledge of the consequences his death would have that kept him going. The Master couldn't imagine the strain.

"I don't understand," the scientist dared to speak. "Who are you?"

He gave her an icy cold smile.

"I am the Master," he explained. "And you will obey me." He gestured to the machine. "Get him out of there."

The woman moved without hesitation, but Hexaha's voice made her stop.

"Wait! If you remove him now, we'll be powerless to change anything. There is still so much to be done!"

"And you might return to being a mere human", the Master sneered. "A scary thought, isn't it?"

He began moving himself, over to the controls, but now Hexaha had recovered his wits and pointed a gun at him.

"No," he said simply. "I will make this world a better place. You won't stop me."

"Oh, you poor fool," a new voice sounded – tired, exhausted, barely audible. "This world is lost."

The Master whirled around to see the Doctor standing beside the mechanism, naked as pale, trembling. Barely able to stand upright, but in his eyes the Master saw the same fire he'd always found himself searching for between the stars. He also saw anger and sadness.

"Maybe once upon a time you really wanted to help this world. But you've lost that goal long ago. All you do now you do for your own gain."

"I ended the war!" Hexaha pointed out, defiance in his voice. He could break the Doctor in half with one hand, and still he looked like a little boy caught stealing cookies.

"But did you stop there?" the Doctor asked, his voice raspy, hard. "Maybe this world could have been saved then, but you had to keep changing and changing it, until you controlled everything and everyone loved you!" There was no forgiveness in his eyes. It occurred to the Master that he was very lucky.

Hexaha, who was not lucky, finally got his brain to keep up with the situation.

"How did you get out of there?" The woman beside him seemed to know the answer. The Master saw all colour drain from her face.

Somewhere deep below them, the earth seemed to tremble.

"I was never in there," the Doctor explained. Now he only looked tired.

"Of course you were!"

"I created a reality in which I wasn't. And so none of the changes ever happened."

Hexaha actually laughed.

"That's impossible," he said. "I know how this works: if you've never been in there, you can't have changed reality so that you weren't and thus you were. It's a paradox. It doesn't work."

"You know nothing," the Master spat, losing his patience. "It works, because as the one who caused the paradox it doesn't affect him. That way you could even negate the existence of your own species and live on." He wasn't deliberately cruel, just curious. The Doctor showed no reaction to his words, didn't even acknowledge his presence.

"The timelines you created are fading one after another, restoring the broken wasteland you tried to leave behind," he said. "The energies released in the process will tear this planet apart within days."

The others stared at him, realisation kicking in. The Earth shook again, harder. Something inside the building cracked.

"You killed us all!" one of the scientists gasped in horror. "Everyone in the world!"

"You did it!" the Doctor said, a shadow of grief and rage running over his face before he added with a thin, cold smile: "This building was destroyed in the war."

His words had the desired effect: After the initial second of confusion everyone dropped whatever they held in their hands and made their way to the door, trying to get out of the building before it collapsed around them. Their survival instincts were too strong, the Master supposed, even though the Doctor had just told them that their world was doomed anyway. Their species had known space travel, but their few ships had been lost in the war. There was no escape. They wouldn't even make it out of the building, he realised. Already cracks where showing in the walls and ceiling, all around them.

They were standing alone in the large room, everyone else having run away, and the Master realised that they wouldn't make it either. The Doctor had sacrificed them along with this planet. It had all been in vain.

A part of the ceiling came down. The Master waited for the anger to kick in but it didn't come. He looked at the Doctor, standing mere meters away, naked and hurt but standing still, and the Doctor looked back at him, finally looked at him now that everyone else was gone and the world was ending, and raised his arms, an invitation.

The Master didn't hesitate and didn't think and only felt something like faint appreciation as he walked over to wrap his arms around that thin, shivering body. The Doctor leaned against him and closed his eyes, his hands resting on the Master's back, and the Master tightened his grip and held him a little closer as the ground beneath their feet disappeared and they started to fall.

-

A man made his way though the ruins of fallen buildings. It was quiet here. The sounds of fighting were far away and barely audible, and there was no wind. The dust had not yet settled.

He stopped for a second, trying to make out anything useful in the rubble. It was strange – he felt like he'd searched these ruins a hundred times before and yet he'd just seen the buildings fall.

After a minute he walked on. Every so often he would stop to have a closer look. Until suddenly he spotted something.

In between all the destruction he saw two bodies, half covered by rubble. A large man in a black suit and another man, thin and naked as far as he could tell, locked in an embrace, almost like lovers. The larger man had the other pressed against his own body, as if he'd wanted to protect him from the impact and the falling concrete. The searcher shook his head sadly – even if he had managed to protect the other's head and shoulders, the building had collapsed on them and the pieces of concrete that covered them had without any doubt shattered everything from the chest down. He didn't even try to remove the pile of rubble from their bodies or check if they were still alive. He knew they couldn't be.

Until suddenly the larger man grabbed his wrist.

-

The dust settled slowly, on the debris and the rubble and the dead body of a large man in a black suit, lying crushed and alone beneath a pile of concrete and steel. On the destroyed street a man in dirty clothes made his way through the remains of the crumbled city, slowly, carefully, because the body he carried in his arms was so very broken. The Master walked a mile, then had to sit down and rest. This body wasn't as strong as the last one but he had to take was he could get, and the Doctor weighed next to nothing. He didn't move.

After a few minutes the Master got up and walked on.

The TARDIS was still very far away.

August 29, 2007


End file.
